You Think Your Job Is Bad?

There's an old Jewish saying, or at least one that my grandparents who were Jewish would say to me: "Work as though you will live a hundred years; think as though you will die tomorrow." My experience in the working world has been closer to a slight variation of that quote -- I've had jobs for one day that felt like 100 years and have prayed for a quick death so I wouldn't have to return.

Allow me, won't you, to share the most painful, embarrassing, humiliating, soul-draining jobs I've ever had. Of course, this could dredge up a lot of residual anguish which may impact upon my psychological development. But then again, so does watching my Uncle Mort pick the pieces of brisket out of his teeth after a meal.

Of course, it's not just we commoners who've had to toil in the nitty gritty real-world employment scene. Even today's celebrities had to work to become celebrities, often by doing mundane jobs to support themselves en route to their fame. Danny DeVito worked as a hairdresser in his sister's beauty salon. Steve Martin was employed in a magic shop at Disneyland. Whoopi Goldberg applied make-up to corpses in a mortuary. Even Moses was a shepherd – well that was his day job in between smiting the Egyptians, leading the Israelites out of slavery, getting the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai….he was apparently the world's first multi-tasker.

How fascinating it is to discover these early jobs of history's greatest names. Somehow, it makes them more human, more relatable; perhaps it's even inspirational--as if to say, "Heck, President Truman was a hat salesman, so maybe there's hope for me, too. Maybe even though today I'm just following this elephant around with a shovel and a broom, I could one day become President." Freud described this kind of thinking as "delusional."

But back to, for want of a better word, me.

Note: the following are absolutely real jobs that I have actually held. Sadly, nothing was made up or enhanced. Feel my pain. In fact, go ahead and give me a sympathetic "Oy!" Thanks; I needed that.

I started out as a towel boy in a massage parlor. That's right, a towel boy in a massage parlor. No, I'm not joking. And yes, I wish I were. Granted, not your typical job for a young Jewish man. Especially considering the fact that this was, of course, a theme massage parlor where masseuses dressed up as Egyptians. After their hands were through working their magic, I had to enter the private "pyramids," collect used towels and wash them. Can you hear my ancestors spinning in their graves? Oddly enough, I chose not to pursue a career in massage.

Can you hear my ancestors spinning in their graves?

Instead, I moved into the burgeoning field of office management, for a casket-making company. The highlight was taking grieving families into the showroom to let them select a casket. I still remember the phrases I used most often: "I'm sorry for your loss"; "I guess that one's comfortable—we've never had any complaints," and, "Yes, I do enjoy the job, but what I really want to do is embalm."

After that, I made the next logical job choice—stand-up comic at a Jewish old age home on New Year's Eve. What I remember most was various audience members, during my act, saying to one another loudly, "What did he say?!", shouting to me, "TALK LOUDER!" , and "You still have some brisket in between your teeth!" Afterwards, the home's director took me aside and confided, "We can either pay you, or get Dottie Feinberg that hip operation."

But why dwell on those lighthearted, carefree jobs, when I can share with you the one that proves that no matter how badly you think you have it, there's always someone who's sunk lower? Sunk, in this case, to being a fake perfume salesman in a parking lot. No, unfortunately, that's not a misprint.

I was trained to lurk, like a ravenous tiger stalking its prey, in the parking lots of huge outdoor malls, and wait till customers exited the stores and reached their cars. I was then to lick my paws and creep slowly and silently toward those with the weakest common sense, ready to spring.
While they fumbled for their keys—innocent, unaware and vulnerable—my mission was to pounce and, using a memorized sales pitch, attempt to sell them $27 re-creations of brand-name perfumes from the mobile stockroom of my car. If any of my victims were even slightly good at reading eyes, they surely would have seen "I hate myself for doing this" in mine.
Most of these people had an understandable response: As they saw me coming, clutching my faux perfume bottles and my most sincere insincere smile, they fearfully hurried to get their children safely into their cars, lock the doors and start the motor, desperate to escape the happy lunatic who was approaching. At least I smelled good.

As they zoomed away, I thought of my college degree and my parents' high hopes for me, and wondered if Dr. Kevorkian, that doctor who assisted suicides, would be willing to take me on as a client and if so, would his phone number be listed. If it was, I knew it wouldn't take much to persuade him to put me out of my misery. He'd most likely respond to my request, "You're selling perfume knock-offs in a mall parking lot to no one who wants them? I'll be right over."
In the six hour shift I endured, I sold just one bottle, and that to a woman whom I'm not quite sure had a completely working grasp of the English language, because she kept pointing from the perfume to her car's oil container under the hood.

My heart goes out to anyone who has to do any bad job. I suppose it's all part of the price of figuring out who you are and what you want in life. On second thought, who am I kidding? It's generally because you need cash and it's the only job you can get. Still, for every day you have to do one of those jobs, your heart and soul shrinks just a little bit. A Jewish proverb (or my grandmother again) states, "Not to have felt pain is not to have been human." If that's true, my jobs have made me the most human man alive. And that's why if one day I see you coming toward me with your own selection of perfume knock-offs, you don't even have to launch into the sales spiel; I'll just open my wallet. Help yourself. I know exactly what you're going through. And I'm truly, truly sorry.

Mark Miller has written on numerous sit-com staffs, performed stand-up comedy in nightclubs and on TV, and been a humor columnist for the Los Angeles Times Syndicate. He can be reached at mark.writer@gmail.com

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About the Author

Mark Miller is a comedy writer who has performed stand-up comedy in nightclubs and on TV, written on numerous sit-com staffs, been a humor columnist for the Los Angeles Times Syndicate and is a current humor blogger for The Huffington Post. His first book, a collection of his humor essays on dating and romance, was published by Skyhorse Publishing on February 3rd of 2015. Its title: 500 Dates: Dispatches From the Front Lines of the Online Dating Wars. But he says he’d trade all his success away in a minute for immortality, inner peace and limitless wealth. Follow his website/blog at: http://www.markmillerhumorist.com/. And he can be reached at: mark.writer@gmail.com

I just got married and have an important question: Can we eat rice on Passover? My wife grew up eating it, and I did not. Is this just a matter of family tradition?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

The Torah instructs a Jew not to eat (or even possess) chametz all seven days of Passover (Exodus 13:3). "Chametz" is defined as any of the five grains (wheat, spelt, barley, oats, and rye) that came into contact with water for more than 18 minutes. Chametz is a serious Torah prohibition, and for that reason we take extra protective measures on Passover to prevent any mistakes.

Hence the category of food called "kitniyot" (sometimes referred to generically as "legumes"). This includes rice, corn, soy beans, string beans, peas, lentils, peanuts, mustard, sesame seeds and poppy seeds. Even though kitniyot cannot technically become chametz, Ashkenazi Jews do not eat them on Passover. Why?

Products of kitniyot often appear like chametz products. For example, it can be hard to distinguish between rice flour (kitniyot) and wheat flour (chametz). Also, chametz grains may become inadvertently mixed together with kitniyot. Therefore, to prevent confusion, all kitniyot were prohibited.

In Jewish law, there is one important distinction between chametz and kitniyot. During Passover, it is forbidden to even have chametz in one's possession (hence the custom of "selling chametz"). Whereas it is permitted to own kitniyot during Passover and even to use it - not for eating - but for things like baby powder which contains cornstarch. Similarly, someone who is sick is allowed to take medicine containing kitniyot.

What about derivatives of kitniyot - e.g. corn oil, peanut oil, etc? This is a difference of opinion. Many will use kitniyot-based oils on Passover, while others are strict and only use olive or walnut oil.

Finally, there is one product called "quinoa" (pronounced "ken-wah" or "kin-o-ah") that is permitted on Passover even for Ashkenazim. Although it resembles a grain, it is technically a grass, and was never included in the prohibition against kitniyot. It is prepared like rice and has a very high protein content. (It's excellent in "cholent" stew!) In the United States and elsewhere, mainstream kosher supervision agencies certify it "Kosher for Passover" -- look for the label.

Interestingly, the Sefardi Jewish community does not have a prohibition against kitniyot. This creates the strange situation, for example, where one family could be eating rice on Passover - when their neighbors will not. So am I going to guess here that you are Ashkenazi and your wife is Sefardi. Am I right?

Yahrtzeit of Rabbi Moses ben Nachman (1194-1270), known as Nachmanides, and by the acronym of his name, Ramban. Born in Spain, he was a physician by trade, but was best-known for authoring brilliant commentaries on the Bible, Talmud, and philosophy. In 1263, King James of Spain authorized a disputation (religious debate) between Nachmanides and a Jewish convert to Christianity, Pablo Christiani. Nachmanides reluctantly agreed to take part, only after being assured by the king that he would have full freedom of expression. Nachmanides won the debate, which earned the king's respect and a prize of 300 gold coins. But this incensed the Church: Nachmanides was charged with blasphemy and he was forced to flee Spain. So at age 72, Nachmanides moved to Jerusalem. He was struck by the desolation in the Holy City -- there were so few Jews that he could not even find a minyan to pray. Nachmanides immediately set about rebuilding the Jewish community. The Ramban Synagogue stands today in Jerusalem's Old City, a living testimony to his efforts.

It's easy to be intimidated by mean people. See through their mask. Underneath is an insecure and unhappy person. They are alienated from others because they are alienated from themselves.

Have compassion for them. Not pity, not condemning, not fear, but compassion. Feel for their suffering. Identify with their core humanity. You might be able to influence them for the good. You might not. Either way your compassion frees you from their destructiveness. And if you would like to help them change, compassion gives you a chance to succeed.

It is the nature of a person to be influenced by his fellows and comrades (Rambam, Hil. De'os 6:1).

We can never escape the influence of our environment. Our life-style impacts upon us and, as if by osmosis, penetrates our skin and becomes part of us.

Our environment today is thoroughly computerized. Computer intelligence is no longer a science-fiction fantasy, but an everyday occurrence. Some computers can even carry out complete interviews. The computer asks questions, receives answers, interprets these answers, and uses its newly acquired information to ask new questions.

Still, while computers may be able to think, they cannot feel. The uniqueness of human beings is therefore no longer in their intellect, but in their emotions.

We must be extremely careful not to allow ourselves to become human computers that are devoid of feelings. Our culture is in danger of losing this essential aspect of humanity, remaining only with intellect. Because we communicate so much with unfeeling computers, we are in danger of becoming disconnected from our own feelings and oblivious to the feelings of others.

As we check in at our jobs, and the computer on our desk greets us with, "Good morning, Mr. Smith. Today is Wednesday, and here is the agenda for today," let us remember that this machine may indeed be brilliant, but it cannot laugh or cry. It cannot be happy if we succeed, or sad if we fail.

Today I shall...

try to remain a human being in every way - by keeping in touch with my own feelings and being sensitive to the feelings of others.

With stories and insights,
Rabbi Twerski's new book Twerski on Machzor makes Rosh Hashanah prayers more meaningful. Click here to order...